Helpless
by Erezam
Summary: After HLV. "Thank you for..." And that was it, the text stopped there. Nothing more, not a word more. Sherlock was at a lost. If someone asked him he would deny it, but the only consulting detective in the entire world was entirely lost; Molly had never ever send him an incomplete text, least of all a cryptic one, and this particular text achieved both miracles at once.


**Disclaimer: **Part or all of this work has been inspired by the work of another person/group of people who aren't me. I don't own anything that has been borrowed to this person/group of people and I didn't get any money for this work. I'm just an admirer of its/their work and writing only for fun. However, I'm the owner of every other original ideas in this writing and therefore don't want to see my work being reproduced or duplicated without my knowledge or my agreement beforehand. Any plagiarism might be punished by the law (according to the law of the offender's and the writer's countries).

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**Notes:** If you like what follows and want to tell me, if you want to submit ideas to me for another fanfic/story or if you didn't like it and want to tell me anyway, you're welcome to visit my Tumblr (Erezam).

Please enjoy this first ever attempt of mine to write a Sherlolly story. For now I'll leave it as an OS but if you're interested in more, I'll see what I can do =).  
Wasn't betaed or anything so any mistake is mine. Also, English isn't my first language so feel free to point out any grammar mistake I may have made.  
Love.

/!\ Slight warning: two minor mentions of drug use, so careful if it is a trigger for you.

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"Thank you for..."

And that was it, the text stopped there. Nothing more, not a word more. Sherlock was at a lost. If someone asked him he would deny it, but the only consulting detective in the entire world was entirely lost; Molly had never ever send him an incomplete text, least of all a cryptic one, and this particular text achieved both miracles at once. And Sherlock was worried, which was what was really upsetting him in the first place. As soon as the plane had landed, he had run out and rushed into his brother's car which was conveniently waiting with its door open.

John and Mary were already in it and no sooner had he closed the door behind him that the car was speeding away towards the center of London.

"Molly" was the only thing, the only word Sherlock uttered once he was seated in the car besides Mycroft and opposite to the Watsons.

"We're taking care of it as we speak", said the older Holmes.

"Who's we?"

"I have a very good team Sherlock, don't fear", snarled Mycroft with a tight smile.

Sherlock's head jerked towards his brother, his eyes throwing daggers at his brother. Time was of the essence and making fun of him wasn't helping one bit.

"Don't be so angry Sherlock, it isn't helping either."

It is was possible, Sherlock's eyes grow bigger and his eyebrows were frowned so much it appeared as if they were trying to merge together. Sometimes it unnerved him to no end that Mycroft was the smarter one of them two and could still, even after all these years, read him like a book. Oh, who was he kidding, it always unnerved him. But aside of this physical manifestations of discontent, he refrained himself from saying anything and just kept looking very unhappily at his brother who was now smirking contentedly.

Both Watsons facing him were now looking quite lost for one and not just a little pleased for the other.

Without further dwelling into "this", Sherlock diverted his gaze from the other occupants of the car and pulled his phone out, starting texting right away and more furiously than ever. After hitting send and waiting a few minutes without saying anything and looking blindly through the window, his carefully kept composure and his mask of complete calm and indifference started to slowly slip.

"We need to go faster Mycroft"

If the drumming of his fingers was any indication, John would have said that Sherlock was losing it.

"We're already going faster than legally authorized Sherlock, surely you know that we can't actually go any faster."

"You have to."

The drumming was now furious.

"Sherlock", interjected John, a little bit worried for his friend, "you have to calm yourself a bit, Molly isn't in any danger... yet", he added quickly after seeing the look on Sherlock's face "and Lestrade, I'm sure, is already at Barts taking care of her."

"Gavin is incompetent at best and incredibly stupidly incompetent at worst. I'm the one who put her in this dangerous situation and therefore I should be the one to go to her and make sure that she's safe."

"Sherlock..." started John, but the brutal stop of the car prevented him of saying more, because as soon as the driver pulled the handbrake, Sherlock was out of the door running towards the main entrance, already visualizing in his head every access to the morgue and the fastest way to cover them all. Finally reaching the elevator, he turned to see John right behind, Mary waddling along further behind them both and Mycroft seemingly taking his time still carrying his insufferable umbrella. However, Sherlock could perceive a certain nervousness in the way he was carrying himself, and that was just what stopped him from screaming at his brother: Mycroft was in fact concerned.

The sound of the elevator shook him out of his temporary trance and he rushed into it before pressing hard on the button for the morgue once they were all safely inside. Before the closing of the door he had just the time to hear the sound of the police sirens.

Once they reached the floor for the morgue, Sherlock took the lead of the group once again and run towards Molly's favorite lab. She had to be there, of course she was there, how could she be…

Sherlock stopped brutally upon coming near the lab's doors. They were barely hanging onto their hinges, the smoke coming from the lab clouding completely the view of the inside. An explosion of some sort had apparently blown the doors out and destroyed everything inside the lab. And the only thing Sherlock could do right now was stare at the burned hallway and listen to the sound of the police forces coming down the stairs and echoing in the emptiness of his mind.

The smoke was filling the air surrounding the morgue little by little and it wasn't long before Sherlock and the others were coughing their lungs out. But that didn't deter Sherlock who quickly recovered his bearings and lunged towards the blown out doors screaming between coughs:

"Molly!..Humpf… Molly!"

Behind him John and Mary hadn't even tried to follow him through the screen of smoke, because of the baby or something equally trivial Sherlock thought, but Mycroft was right behind me. He did care a little.

"Sherlock, she's not here", said his brother standing in the middle of what used to be the morgue but was now little more than a pile of ashes and smoke-darkened furniture.

"And how would you know Mycroft? Because as I recall you didn't have any surveillance detail on her and didn't keep track of her every phone calls, movements, sneezes or of the number of bloody awful jumper that she wears at work, so, please Mycroft, tell me how would you know?", asked Sherlock losing his temper in the process, pacing back and forth in the little space not recovered by fragments due to the explosion.

"Because I see no body here, Sherlock."

This sentence stopped Sherlock right where he was. He slowly turned his head to look his brother in the eyes. There was no body, of course he knew that, he had noticed it immediately, but that didn't mean that Molly wasn't in the room anymore, hiding somewhere in a cupboard or a locker. Molly wasn't weak, she was resourceful, she knew how to handle herself. After all, she was the one who killed the great and only consulting detective in the world.

"I obviously noticed, Mycroft, I didn't became Anderson during my four-minute exile. But she might still be here, hiding. You have no idea of what she's capable of."

"I obviously don't", answered slowly his brother, looking at him suspiciously now.

"What do you….", started the detective, his long frame suddenly raising itself from the semi-hunched position it was in during the pacing to stand with all of its height, his eyebrows furrowed to their maximum in an almost comical way. But he was cut short by a bout of coughing coming from the doors of the morgue. The smoke had been slowly going out of the room through the blown out doors and through the windows that somehow had been opened since they got here. Looking around, Sherlock finally realized that they weren't alone in the room anymore: NSY had arrived, and if the people in suits getting busy in the room were any indication, they had been here for at least thirty minutes. How long it had been since his brother, the Watsons and him had entered the building? He couldn't lost track of time, not now! What was his problem?

"Sherlock, Mycroft", started the voice responsible for the cough, "I'm sorry but you have to left the building, we're starting the investigation and everyone else has been lead outside. John and Mary are waiting for you in front of your car. We haven't found any body so there's nothing to solve for you Sherlock."

It was Lestrade, looking visibly uneasy to have disturbed the two brothers.

"Thank you, D.I. Lestrade, we were on our way out", answered simply the older brother before making a step aside, looking pointedly at the consulting detective.

The latter stared into nothing before shaking quickly his head and stepping towards the exit without answering Lestrade or looking at his brother.

Near the door he suddenly turned around and asked:

"Molly?"

Mycroft and Lestrade shared a concerned glance that Sherlock meticulously ignored before Lestrade responded quietly:

"No sign of her Sherlock, I'm sorry."

Closing briefly his eyes, Sherlock turned around and left without further dwellings. If she wasn't here, she was elsewhere, and either dead or alive, Sherlock had to know. Looking at his feet all the way to the elevator, he didn't see the looks the policemen were throwing his way: suspicion, pity, doubt, worry, angst, they were all there.

The doors closed on his brother staring almost worriedly from the other end of the corridor, leaving him alone in the cubicle.

His thoughts going relentlessly in his head, he had never craved a needle more than right now; sure he knew it wasn't worth it and that the downfall would be worse than the high but if it could quiet his mind long enough for him to assimilate what was going on, it would certainly be a start.

"Very not good Sherlock, keep focus", the voice of John Watson intervened.

"Leave me alone", grumbled the man.

"You're alone Sherlock. And _maybe_ that's exactly what it is all about, because _maybe_ you don't want to be alone anymore, _maybe_…"

"I'm not alone: I've got you and Mary and, even as I loath to admit it, Mycroft. And Molly", interrupted Sherlock in a growl.

"You're not so sure about Molly right now, but otherwise you're right", said back John with a cheeky tone before adding more seriously: "And that's what you're so scared of; losing Molly means losing someone you care about, but more importantly, someone who like you is consumed by her work, scared of social meetings, scared of love but had made the choice to love you anyway. The difference between you and her that makes her so special is that she is afraid but she does it anyway, she makes the choice of loving even if it means suffering. She's sweet, kind-hearted, lovely in all accounts. And if she can, if she _chooses_ to love even someone as bad as you – or at least for someone who likes to think of himself as bad and evil in some way – then maybe you deserve to be loved and to love back, and if that's the case, then it'll only be possible with her. She's the only goldfish possible for you because she's you in a way and has made the choice of loving you. With her you can start to finally love yourself. Do you understand Sherlock?"

"Of course I do, you're my own mind, or in my own mind at least", snapped the youngest Holmes

"And?"

"And what?"

"And what what Sherlock?"

Sherlock suddenly rose his head: he was talking out loud apparently because a voice had pulled him out of his mind palace. It seems that he had reached the lobby with the elevator without noticing and obviously had gotten out because he was now in front of Mycroft's car, looking at a vast crowd assembled behind police lines. The noises of all those people, the ambulances and police car had nearly drowned the womanly voice.

"Sherlock?", asked the voice again.

He turned slowly to look at the woman speaking, scared that his mind palace was playing tricks on him and that he was losing it completely: a short woman, brown hair in a ponytail, cute nose, perfect lips and perfectly proportioned breasts, the whole wrapped in a shock blanket.

"Molly?", asked in a whisper the consulting detective.

"Yes?", whispered back the pathologist looking visibly a little lost, "Are you ok Sherlock? Shouldn't you be elsewhere on a case or something right now?"

Sherlock just nodded before quickly making his way towards her, all the while checking visually if she was injured. Too confused to do anything else, Molly stayed right where she was, cuddling even more in the blanket, a little bit scared now at the way that Sherlock was staring intently at her.

Upon reaching her he fought the first impulsion he had of embracing her and contented himself with adjusting her blanket, pulling it more tightly around her if it was possible.

"You're alright then"

"Yes, I wasn't in the morgue when the explosion occurred so…"

"How did you know?", asked slightly awed the detective.

"That Moriarty would come after me? Or that after that national broadcast I wasn't that safe anymore? Well Sherlock, I'd like to think I picked up a thing or two after all these years listening to you", joked Molly laughing quietly.

"Don't try to make jokes Molly, I'm afraid you're not that good at it", said Sherlock who couldn't help a grin.

"Anyway, as soon as I saw the broadcast I left the morgue and went upstairs in the cafeteria. I thought that the more people around me, the less likely it would be that Moriarty attempted anything. Shortly after the morgue was blowing up and everyone panicked, ran around before the police came and led us all outside where ambulances were waiting for us. Then Sergeant Donovan saw me and told me to cross the police line and to wait here. That's the whole of it."

Molly ended her story with a little smile and a shrug like it was nothing.

And it kind of was for her. But not for Sherlock. Sherlock who right now was trying very hard not to take Molly into his arms. Hadn't she be so smart and so quick, she wouldn't be alive today. But Sherlock being Sherlock he just pat awkwardly Molly on the arm and gave one of his rare smile:

"Well, I'm glad that you're alive Molly Hooper."

Molly's smile brightened and they stood there for just a moment, just looking at each other not saying anything, lost in the moment and completely tuning out the noise around them.

"Sherlock? Sherlock!?"

Mycroft was now standing near his car, not 10 feet away.

Not letting the disappointment show, Sherlock dropped his smile before turning his head to look at his brother, not moving otherwise.

"You were quite right, she's capable of many things. But most importantly: she's capable of keeping up with you, and that's quite a remarkable feat. Don't you forget it Sherlock."

With these words the British government turned back with his insufferable umbrella still in his hand and got into the car.

"What about my exile?", yelled Sherlock to cover all the noise.

"Let's say that for now it isn't a priority anymore. Your country and a certain pathologist need you Sherlock."

And without further ado, Mycroft disappeared into his car that drove away immediately.

As soon as the car left, Molly jumped on the occasion:

"What exile Sherlock? And what was the bit about me?"

Turning his head back towards Molly who had gotten closer during his talk with his brother, he decided that now would be a time as good as any to tell her the truth and did so in one go without taking his breath:

"I killed Magnussen to protect John and Mary and therefore I had to choose between prison or solving a case abroad. It would have been supposedly fatal after 6 months. And as far as you're concerned, Mycroft is talking about my emotions during the short time when we had lost your track after the broadcast. Any more questions?"

He finished with his trademark fake smile, which sent Molly into a ranting of her own:

"Well clearly you didn't think that I ought to be told all of this before, so why bother telling me this now, you'll be soon on your way to solve the case of Moriarty being back, or whatever that was, and since you only need me when you're doing experiments or when you're committing a fake-suicide, and since apparently you won't be doing any of those in the near future, I don't understand why you told me any of this. I just almost died, Sherlock, so excuse me if I'm a little emotional but I'm just tired of all of your monkey businesses and someone attacked me, or at least targeted me, and… Wait a minute, your emotions?", ended a breathless Molly, looking completely disturbed.

"Ah, I wondered when you would catch up on that", said reluctantly Sherlock. "I guess we could say that I really didn't want you to die today."

The indolent shrug he gave at the end didn't convinced her. And he saw it. So he waited, and she didn't disappoint.

She quickly recomposed herself and, as calmly as she could manage, asked:

"What do you need?"

She was offering him a way out. She understood him. She was really capable of extraordinary feats. But this time, he wouldn't use it.

"You. It's always been you."

And without thinking anymore, he just slowly bent and brought his lips near her own. Already she had her eyes closed in anticipation. But nothing came.

She quickly opened them again.

"You know, I was wrong about your lips, they're exactly as…", whispered Sherlock while looking intently at her mouth.

"Oh shut up Sherlock", interrupted Molly before grasping the collar of his Belstaff and pulling him down, finally kissing him.

Not really knowing what to do with his body, Sherlock went and decided against everything he believed in and let his instincts take control. And after letting Molly in his life, he might have been the best decision he had ever taken. And he would chose it over a needle any day.

Suddenly, almost brutally, he stopped the kiss.

"What Sherlock?", sighed Molly, not looking really surprised if not a little bit disappointed.

"What was the end of that text that you sent me just before the broadcast, when I was on my very short exile?", quickly fired Sherlock, not bothering with manner. A doubt was suddenly slowly creeping his way into his mind.

He grabbed both her arms tightly, almost hurting her.

"What text Sherlock? I didn't even knew you were going away because of Magnussen. Sherlock, you're scaring me and you're hurting me, what is going on?". Molly was nearly panicking herself now; the look on Sherlock's face was nearly maniac.

"Where is your phone Molly? Where is your phone?"

He was now really shaking her while asking the question.

"I…I do…I don't know." And the stammering was back full force. "In… In the panic I guess…I guess lost it, or left it in the morgue."

"You need to be sure Molly, I need to…"

He didn't have the time to finish before his phone went off with a texting alert.

Almost too fast for the human eye, Sherlock dropped his hold on Molly and grabbed his phone. Unlocking it, the text he saw coming from Molly's number almost made him drop it.

"Thank you for Magnussen. Did you miss me?"


End file.
